


Lines

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:02:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small continuation on 3X05. Lizzie and Red wait at the theatre for a call about Dembe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist, and i used the lines from 'Mother Courage' that Red recited :)

Lizzie watches Red wrap his fingers around the ringing phone. He turned the volume up so loud earlier; and it makes the both of them wince. They’ve been waiting for this call, and Liz keeps her eyes glued to Red's face as he holds the phone to his ear. His jaw is tight; the skin on his cheek quivers; and he blinks rapidly as if there’s a bit of dust in each of his eyes (which wouldn’t be too surprising because this place was full of it when they first arrived). Red doesn’t say anything other than a quick ‘hello’, and Lizzie can’t make out what the person on the other end is saying. It makes her nervous though, so nervous for Dembe, she’s tempted to hide her hands behind her back and cross all her fingers. She waits for Red to look at her, but his gaze doesn’t waver from the glass of alcohol in front of him. He still hasn’t taken a sip from it. Since arriving back to the theatre Red has been very quiet, didn’t say anything when she placed the glass of scotch on the table. 

This phone call needs to be good news.

“Thank you,” Red says, and Lizzie takes it as a good sign because he surely wouldn’t be thanking them if there was a problem. Red snaps the phone shuts, tosses it next to him on the sofa. 

“Dembe is going to be alright,” he tells her. Red leans his body forward and rests his arms along the tops of his thighs. His hands clasps together tightly, and Lizzie wonders if it’s to stop them from trembling.

“Should we go and see him?” 

“He needs to rest.” Red responds. Lizzie watches his head drop; he stares down at the wooden floorboards between his shoes. “We’ll go first thing tomorrow," he murmurs.

“Will he be safe?”

“Yes.”

Lizzie nods, tilts her chin closer to her chest to try and catch his eye, to try and get him to look at her. He’s all hunched over and the white shirt he’s wearing is taut around his shoulders. 

“Are you alright, Red?”

He nods his head, but it does nothing to reassure her. But she swallows down her worry anyway, feels it get stuck in her throat. He won't want her to be worried for him. But she can’t stop looking at him, won’t leave him alone until he tells her to give him some space. She can’t imagine him doing so, but she hasn’t seen him like this before-she doesn't want to see him like this ever again. Lizzie wonders what he used to do for comfort when he was alone on the run for all those years. The times he had no one? She's going to keep an eye on him tonight, she thinks. Stay close. She won't fall asleep until he does.

Red runs his thumb and forefinger across his eyelids, squeezes the bridge of his nose. It’s a movement done very quickly and then his hand drops away, and he leans back and stretches his arm across the back of the sofa. She glances at his hand, his thumb, and the pad of it is wet. Liz shifts uncomfortably in her seat because she doesn’t know what to say. When she's upset Red always knows what to say, what to do. 

“Today was too close,” he says, his voice hoarse and worn out; he clears his throat.

“Yeah," Lizzie agrees, watches his tongue continually dart out and wet his lips. "But we got through it… and Dembe’s going to be okay.”

She's not sure what it is that does it, but he finally lifts his head to look at her. His eyes glisten, and she knows that little pang in her chest is because of him, like she can feel his pain. She smiles though, her cheeks dimples, and she watches his face soften at the same time her lips curve upwards. But it doesn’t last long; he frowns, holds her gaze until she looks away. He looks so guilty, annoyed with himself, and she doesn't want him to be. It's not good for him, she thinks.

“You were almost-“

“I know,” she interjects.

“Twice,” he says. 

“I am well aware of the day’s events,” she tells him. 

“I would have never brought you to that hanger with me if I had one doubt-”

“Red.” Lizzie stops him, shakes her head. “Don’t.”

Liz knows she would insist on going anywhere with Red despite any refusals from him. She chose to be here with him. Of course the circumstances aren't ideal, but she can't imagine being with anyone else while she attempts to clear her name. She shifts in her seat again, moves forward so shes's resting on the very edge and reaches a hand out. She lets it hang there in the air between them, and she smiles when Red’s eyes snap to her open palm, to her finger which twitches just slightly. He gets the idea, she thinks, knows what she wants. He slides his hand off the back of the sofa, reaches out slowly and rests his much larger hand in hers. The skin on his palm is warm and soft, but calloused behind the knuckles. 

She flips their hands around so hers is on the top. Red’s too intent on staring at their joined hands to look at her. He’s all wide-eyed, and the skin on his cheek is now slack. 

Lizzie knows he’s wondering what she’s doing, and it's not until she strokes her thumb across the pad of his own thumb in one, slow movement, that his eyelashes flutter. 

Then she lets go, sits back in her chair as if the action was nothing¬–like her soothing a tear-stained thumb is something she does to everyone when they're upset– and she tucks her hair behind her ears.

“Do you want to go over your lines again?” She asks.

His eyes still carry a hint of surprise when he looks at her, a lot of warmth and love, but he covers it quickly by huffing out a laugh and resting his hand back on his lap. 

“Oh, I think I’ve retired from that career,” he answers lightly.

“’I am not courageous.’” She prompts him along. “’Only the poor have courage…’”

“Lizzie!” Red looks genuinely shocked, and the growing grin on his face makes everything that happened earlier in the day disappear for just a moment. “You remembered my lines.”

And just to keep his smile in place a little longer, to keep his mind away from worrying about Dembe for a little bit, Lizzie continues. 

“Why?” She says, looking out to the empty seats where she imagined, just a day ago, an audience captivated by Red's performance. 

“’Because they are hopeless... To get up every morning to plow a potato field in wartime, to bring kids with no prospects into the world.’” 

Red looks quite giddy by the time she looks back to him.

“To live poor—that takes courage.” She says, gives him a challenging grin. “Do you remember your next line?”


End file.
